


Surgical Trinity

by booktick



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Despair, Desperation, Episode: s06e13-14 Comrades in Arms Parts 1-2, Fear of Death, Heartache, Heavy Angst, M/M, Self-Denial, Self-Doubt, Separation Anxiety, Wishful Thinking, mentions of Peg Hunnicutt and Trapper John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktick/pseuds/booktick
Summary: BJ could deal with spending long hours in the OR while his best friend slumbered away in the Swamp. He could understand it when Hawk wanted to stick behind and stay up with a patient. He could even fall asleep on more than one occasion while Hawkeye was out playing footsie with a nurse. In all those scenarios, he always knew where Hawkeye was, always knew Hawkeye would come back.But this...this was so much more...and so much worse.





	Surgical Trinity

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

* * *

BJ could deal with spending long hours in the OR while his best friend slumbered away in the Swamp. He could understand it when Hawk wanted to stick behind and stay up with a patient. He could even fall asleep on more than one occasion while Hawkeye was out playing footsie with a nurse. In all those scenarios, he always knew where Hawkeye was, always knew Hawkeye would come back. But this...this was so much more...and so much worse. 

He had this feeling before. It wasn't fun. Those had been dreams though, times where he could wake up and Hawk would be there. But there's no Hawk. There's no Houlihan. People he trusted more than anything behind open fire and dangerous lines. His best friend was out there and he was here and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. The best doctor and nurse the 4077th ever had and now they were considered a lost cause? Not a priority? Were they all expected to wait back and hope for the best at the 4077th?

Where was the justice in that?

He was so mad he could scream. And if he couldn't scream, he'd cry. Charles had the decency not to remark upon it any further. He had been ready to...he really didn't know what. Any mention of the missing doctor and nurse lit something up inside BJ Hunnicutt. A fire that he had no idea was there. He refused to speak about them in the past tense. The war had taken so much from all of them already. He wasn't going to just sit here and...

No...he had to.

BJ had to, right? He had to sit there, sit there and be completely useless to Houlihan and Pierce. No matter what he said to the Colonel, or what the Colonel asked of others on the line, he remained stuck at the 4077th, within the walls of the Swamp, with a barely half written letter to Peg and his heavy heart. He couldn't get any sleep, nothing helped, not even a letter to Peg. He could tell her anything and yet when he put pencil to paper...his cheeks would be suddenly wet all over again.

He lifted his hand and wiped away the tears that stained his face. His knuckles remained damp as he went back to his letter. Usually, it's easier to write to Peg. He can tell her everything and wants to. She was back in California, taking care of Erin alone and trying to keep their little family together. He felt he owed her so much for...everything. He had no idea where he would be without Peg in his life. But writing now to her...it felt different. He had a similar feeling of this before, just like with the fear of losing Hawk.

Maybe it was the worry today would be the day Peg figured him out. That today would be where she didn't write back or didn't want to write back. He had read what felt like hundreds of letters from her before. In more than half she had asked about Hawk, about what havoc the doctor had been up with BJ since the last letter--and it was always so warm too. Peg had such a tenderness to her each and every word, even when she was just asking if Hawkeye liked fudge. And now he was on his cot, crying all alone, without Hawkeye, writing to her, again.

What was he supposed to say? ' _Hi, Honey. How's Erin? Is she eating all her foods? Oh, by the way, Hawkeye and Houlihan are probably trapped under gunfire and shellings. How are you?_ ' He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes this time. He didn't mean to think so harshly. It was hard not to be terrified, to be sick to his stomach. He just...he needed Hawkeye. He needed Margaret. Hell, everyone at the 4077th needed them. 

This wasn't fair. _None_ of this was fair.

The yawn that left him was louder than he meant for it to be. It stretched his jaw further than he usually allowed, a dull ache remained afterwards. He wasn't sure if it was because of Hawk or lack of sleep. God, he was  _so_ tired. He couldn't rest, no matter where he laid down or when he managed to even lay down to begin with. His head lifts some, eyes wandering across the Swamp to Hawkeye's cot. It looked so...out of place now. 

Was his cot like this for Hawkeye before he found his way to the 4077th? No, Trapper left just as he arrived, he remembered that. How could he forget something like that? The way Hawkeye talked about Trapper John when he first arrived...sounded a lot how his thoughts were running now. Maybe Hawkeye had turned to say goodnight to trap only to find this Californian stranger in good ol' Trapper's bed. He knew that feeling. Except no one's in Hawk's cot, there's no one to look at and hate for taking his friend away. No, no, that was wrong. Hawk didn't hate him. He loved Hawkeye, and Hawkeye loved him. 

He just...

He didn't get to go bed hearing one of Hawk's stories about Maine or even get a kiss goodnight. He missed those gestures the most, almost as much as he missed Hawkeye the person, the doctor...the friend. Even the OR seemed worse somehow, and they had been filled with kids barely able to stand nonetheless breathe or speak. Kids on operating tables, with their chests cut open and shrapnel littering their insides.  _That_ was pain he told himself.

What right did he have to sit here and cry about Hawkeye when there were people dying only a steps away? The difference was he couldn't see Hawkeye like he could them. He couldn't fix this like he tried to in surgery. Hawkeye wasn't a stranger, a patient--this was his friend. A M*A*S*H couldn't help Hawk any faster than he could right now. There weren't any sutures in the world, nonethless in Korea, that could hold Hawkeye together. 

And now...now BJ was left with himself. All he had were his thoughts. It was...hard.without Hawk to turn to when the night got cold. The warmth seemed so much smaller when held in his two hands. He couldn't cozy up with it, not really. It wouldn't be there for him when he needed an embrace, arms to arms and chest to chest. It was just a memory, inferior to the real thing if he was being completely honest now. He didn't want a memory. He _wanted_ Hawk.

A thought began to creep further and further towards the front of the rest. He would not think it, no, not once. He would not do that to Hawk. He tried so hard to push it away, to shield his ears from it. His lips quivered as much as his hands started to shake. He would not do this. He would not leave Hawkeye behind, not once, not here, not ever. His pencil fell to the ground, rolling away from him. As he pulled himself to his feet, legs nearly made of jelly, his notepad was falling just unceremonious as the pencil to the ground.

Houlihan was alive. Hawkeye was alive. They were resourceful, had been under shellings before. They'd be okay. They were going to come back home, safe and sound. Hawkeye would be fine. Repeating the words didn't make it true necessarily but it sure did _feel_ neccessary. 

Hawkeye Pierce was  _not_ gone.

Hawkeye Pierce was _alive_.

Hawkeye wa...Hawk...

Without much effort, and a few steps across the Swamp, BJ found himself face first against Hawkeye's cot. His head turned some, enough to take a deep, incredibly shaky, breath. It hurt so much it made his teeth rattle together. He had to grind his teeth to make them stop. He shut his eyes to the world, reaching out reckless for anything on the cot. His hand found a pillow and he was pressing it close to his chest, arms tight around it as if it could vanish from existence from letting go. 

He turned until he laid on his side. The absence of Hawk far more noticeable the longer he laid there. BJ dragged a hand up the pillow, lifting it to wrap it over his face. The dull ache had bloomed inside him all over again. He couldn't scream, wouldn't scream. He would have to settle for this, whatever  _this_ was, and swallow it whole. The burn in his throat isn't a substitute for the loss of Hawkeye's warmth. 

His knees tucked into his chest as he curled up, pillow trapped against him. BJ couldn't let this be the end, he just couldn't. What sort of friend would he if he gave up, accepted this situation? He could never look at himself in the mirror again if he did. But what  _could_ he do? He couldn't very well take a chopper out to look for Houlihan and Hawk.

Here's what he'd do. A pristine, no flaws at all, plan. He'd just stay here on Hawk's cot, keep it warm until Hawkeye got back. He could do that. He'd just stay for a little bit more and wouldn't open his eyes until he was sure Hawkeye and Houlihan had returned to the 4077th. He could even recite a few medical journals Houlihan gave him to keep himself distracted. Margaret would be flattered. Hawkeye would be insulted.

Damn it...he really did miss them.

"Come home, Margaret? Hawkeye..." he murmured, "Please?" and no one answered back.


End file.
